More Deadly Than The Male

"Hello," George said; the beef and pickles he was chewing suddenly tasted of sawdust.

Sydney grunted. He came straight to the point. "Did you see Cora last night?"

George felt his face grow red. "Cora?" He repeated, wondering in panic whether she had told Sydney that they had met.

"Deaf?" Sydney said rudely, eyeing him "What's the matter? You're going puce in the face."

George gulped. What a hateful, arrogant brat this Sydney was! he thought furiously. He put his hand to his cheek. "Got an exposed nerve," he muttered, looking away. "It gives me jip sometimes."

Sydney helped himself to a sardine on toast. "Did you see Cora last night?" he repeated.

"I—I left the message," George said. "Didn't she get it?"

"Oh, she got it; but the little bitch stayed out all night."

George flinched. He thought sadly that George Fraser, millionaire gangster, would have knocked Sydney's teeth out for calling her that.

"That's not a nice way to talk about your sister," he protested; "perhaps she stayed with friends. It was a pretty poisonous night, wasn't it?"

"Friends?" Sydney repeated, his blank, hard eyes still probing George's face. "What makes you think she's got friends?"

"How do I know? Hasn't she?"

"No. I haven't any friends either. We don't want friends." Was Sydney threatening him in a subtle way? George wondered uneasily.

"If I knew who she was sleeping with, I'd mark him for life," Sydney said viciously.

George suddenly felt sick. He remembered the razor blade set in the cork handle and how Sydney had slashed Robinson's face. He remembered particularly the lightning movement that Sydney had made: a movement impossible to avoid.

"Well, I delivered the message," he said, cutting up his beef with exaggerated interest. "That's all you wanted me to do, wasn't it? I don't know anything about anything else."

"Yes, George," Sydney said softly. "That's all I wanted you to do—deliver the message."

"Well, that's what I did," George said shortly.

"She won't stay out again in a hurry," Sydney muttered, half to himself.

Immediately George became alarmed. Had he done anything to her? He suddenly lost his nervousness of Sydney. The thought that this vicious thug might have hurt her enraged him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, turning on Sydney.

"Just that," Sydney returned; "she knows what she'll get the next time she stays out all night."

Perhaps, after all, he had only threatened her, George thought, his unexpected surge of anger dying down. Well, that showed how careful they had to be. This confirmed his belief that Cora was frightened of Sydney. And no wonder. "A hit touched," she had said. Looking at him now, George thought he might really be a hit touched. There was something vicious about those eyes: not only vicious, but fanatical.

He thought it safer to change the subject, and began to talk about their afternoon calls.

He was now most anxious to speak to Cora. He wanted to hear her side of what had happened. If she wanted protection, she only had to ask him. If Sydney really had ill- treated her, he'd make him sorry. Just how he would do this he didn't know, but the details could be worked out later.

Once on the territory, George found it much harder to get to the telephone box than he had imagined. For one thing, all his calls were at the wrong end of the long street. Then Sydney seemed to be doing most of his canvassing in the front gardens. George was so anxious to talk to Cora, so worried that Sydney would spot him sneaking into the telephone box, that he spoilt four calls, where he was pretty sure, if he had been in the right mental attitude, he would have got orders.

This is ridiculous, he thought. I'm throwing away money. I can't go on like this. I'll go to the call-box right now. I won't wait for Sydney to get out of sight. I'll tell him I'm making a date with a friend, or something like that.

He hurried down the street towards the telephone box. As he passed one of the little houses, Sydney appeared at the front door. George kept on, feeling himself growing hot.

"Where you going?" Sydney called.

George glanced over his shoulder. "I've got a 'phone call to make," he said, without stopping. "It won't take me a minute."

He caught a glimpse of Sydney's sneering smile, and then he looked quickly away. Did Sydney suspect who he was going to call? No, he didn't think so, but it couldn't be helped if he did. George just could not wait any longer.